Yesterday we arrived in Chilca. In the morning we set out for the Urubamba River. I finally got my chance to kayak in Peru. Although the whitewater is nowhere near the quality of the Apurimac, the trip down the Urubamba was perhaps the most scenic river I have ever paddled. There were also two quality rapids, one which included a big fifteen foot near vertical drop, where I tucked up, went super deep, and then torpedoed to the surface. Soon thereafter, we pulled off to the side of the river, ate some lunch, and played a series of games introduced to the group by the raft guides. We played a little dizzy paddle, (hold the paddle, look up at the sky, and spin in a circle twenty times as fast as you can). I raced Matt, and much to the chagrin of the crowd, we toppled immediately, and barely managed to stagger out and back to the finish. The Cassidy brothers went next, and in true style, dropped their paddles and went in completely opposite directions. Connor was headed straight for the river bank, but was stopped dead in his tracks by a small tree. He ended up with a few minor cuts and bruises on his shoulder, and we all had a great laugh.
I paddled the rest of the way to Chilca, another four or five kilometers, while the group walked alongside the river bank. The hike into Chilca offered the guys a great perspective of life in the countryside, as they strolled through fields of potatoes, quinoa, and plenty of livestock. Ben and Cullen were inspired by the mountains and the moment, and decided to trail run all the way to town. The mountains loomed over the valley, like sentinels on watch, offering a sense of protection and at the same time a burgeoning curiosity. I floated quietly along the banks, feeling the sun stretch across my back, while listening to the wind whip through the reeds lining the shore.
I stopped for a few moments to talk to a young woman with three pigs drinking from the river. She informed me that Chilca was just two more towns down river. I was not exactly sure where Chilca was, and figured I would know when I arrived. I drifted along staring at the giant white clouds, and my thoughts were soon interrupted by the whistle of the train. I turned to look, and at the same moment I saw the sign for Chilca, a fortuitous moment indeed.
The bridge appeared in the distance as I heard the rumble of the last rapid. I looked up and saw ten children standing on the bridge, some with bikes, others carrying soccer balls. They yelled out and asked me what I was doing on the river. I smiled and said, well, I am coming to live in your town. They ran up and down the bridge pointing to the spot where I could get out of my boat and climb ashore. I noticed Ross on the far side of the river, taking a few photographs of the whole moment.
Joaquin waited with his truck. We loaded the kayak and gear. They introduced me to my host family. Jason and I are staying in an abandoned hostel behind the family home. The Inca trail used to begin in Chilca, but in recent years the trailhead has moved further down the valley. There is little use for the hostel now, but the building is still in great shape and equipped with beds and showers. The mother has dark weathered skin, beautiful black hair, and looks very healthy for her age. Her children were visiting from Cusco for the holiday weekend. Her two daughters brought their two young babies, one almost a year, and the other just two months old. We all conversed for a bit, talking about our trip, and their plans for la dia de independencia.
The mother is the only one in the house for most of our stay, along with the grandmother. The father of our host family passed away many years ago. The grandmother is senile, and is constantly filled with laughter. Her eyes have a deep complexity, and offer an immediate sense that her mind exists only partially in our reality. In the presence of old age she is slipping into a time and space quite different from our own.
The food is incredible. The difference between our culinary lives in Chilca and those at home is quite outstanding. In most of the homes in Chilca there are chickens, pigs, roosters, guinea pigs, and family gardens. The whole process is quite sustainable and the origins of our food are immediately evident. The cuisine is intense, flavorful, and everything is prepared fresh by hand. In our house we dined on fried chicken, and upon a quick visit to another homestay we noticed they were eating fresh trout. The Urubamba is full of delicious trout.
This morning I woke up at seven o’clock and headed in for breakfast, an incredible omelet. The foreman was arriving around eight o’clock at the work site. Our first order of business was to finish the guinea pig pen that the last group started. All the guys seemed to truly enjoy their first night with their families, ate very well, and were already making fast friends with all the little kids in town. We started hauling adobe bricks, lying in bottom land about ten meters below the guinea pig structure. I imagine many were not expecting the work to be so difficult, but found it to be truly challenging labor. The adobe bricks are quite heavy and coarse to the touch. All thirteen of us started a long assembly line passing the bricks after walking short distances. In a matter of hours we moved a significant amount of adobe bricks and it was evident guys were beginning to tire. I was truly proud as we passed the large mud bricks along the line, reflecting on the many months of preparation, work, and anticipation proceeding this first moment of work.
We stopped for a quick break around noon before beginning work on the actual foundation. The foreman created a nice batch of mud used for the mortar. Matt and I took off our shoes, hopped in the middle of the mud pit, and began to fill buckets full of mud. We laid the mortar, stacked the adobe, and began to add another layer to the structure. It was one o’clock before we knew it, and time for some lunch. We all returned back to our families for a brief respite from work.
It seems a lifetime since I left my home, and as I travel farther and farther into the depths of Peru, and the heart of the Sacred Valley, I am only beginning to understand the complexities of the intersection of my own thoughts, hopes, dreams, and ideas with those of a people who exist in a very different time and space.
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